


Crazy Christmas

by Strangely-Magical-Encounters (Danaknowsitall)



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy, Warm Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:49:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27700274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danaknowsitall/pseuds/Strangely-Magical-Encounters
Summary: Bog and Marianne are having their last Christmas alone...And they do it in a fun way too. *winky winky nudge nudge*I suck at naming stuff. Sorry XD
Relationships: Bog King/Marianne (Strange Magic)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Crazy Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MagicalStranger13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Crazy Train](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7756675) by [MagicalStranger13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13). 



> So I did a thing... I hope you like it!!! It’s not as amazing as the original and I can only hope to make a passing likeness to it. 
> 
> It’s just what I think happened XD

The pregnancy had made Marianne restless.

There wasn’t much time left till the baby arrived, Bog knew. Only a two more months and life as they knew it would cease to exist. And yet, no matter how many mornings he woke to see his wife in their bed, her round bump peeking from under her night shirt and above the line of her sleep pants, the sight took his breath away.

How had he manage to wrangle this level of joy out of the sorry carcass of his life before he met her?

And then she would wake, her eyes opening first in slits, roused by the tender stroking he passed over her belly and arms and anywhere he could reach.

She would close her eyes again, sighing happily, scooting to the middle of the bed a little more to snuggle against him.

It wouldn’t take her long to get up and announce she needed to pee—the baby becoming big and pressing on her bladder—but she would come back shortly after that, and most mornings, she would reach for him with intent.

The pregnancy made her very amorous, too.

By that point, there were limited few ways to make love that were comfortable for his beautiful wife, and her favorite was deployed at that moment.

The watery morning light haloed her wild, mahogany hair, her voice rising and falling as she used her husband for relief. And damn it, to be used that way was more than Bog could have ever asked for. He gave her his hands to lean on as she rode him, her eyes closed and her brow furrowed in concentration. 

He read in the baby books that women can either lose their libido or have it increase during pregnancy, but really, he should have known. Even before the baby they had a very active sex life and the surge of hormones only made Marianne even more in need of his services as her husband. 

Her climax neared and to help her, Bog released one of his hands to cup her swelling breast, thumbing over her sensitive nipple.

As if the dark pink target was a button that needed pressing, she clenched and tensed, her orgasm sending him off the edge too with a cry.

She simply knew every way to make him a mere puddle of a man, and Bog was eternally grateful for it.

Marianne’s entire body shuddered and she squeezed him dry, making Bog throw his head back and groan deeply. With a final mewl, she slid off to the side, landing on the bed with a thump as Bog went to get her something to clean up with.

“Ye shouldn’t drop like that on the bed, Love,” he commented, laying down beside her and gathering her into his arms after she was done cleaning herself. “Ye can hurt yerself.”

“Tsk, you worry too much. I’m fine. _We’re_ fine.” She smiled, taking his hand to place on her belly, the whole thing shifting around with unseen movement. “Mmm, I love you, Husband.” Marianne nuzzled his chest, sighing in that content way that made his heart contract with a pleasure/painful squeeze.

“I love ye, too, Wife.”

~~~~

The park had been almost entirely abandoned. Normal, sane people didn’t usually go out on Christmas Eve, in the middle of winter, for walks when the temperatures were nearly freezing.

But, Marianne, as aforementioned, was restless. She needed to stay active. After reorganizing the entire nursery for the third time that week, Bog suggested a walk in secret hopes his wife will calm down enough to cuddle with a cheesy Christmas movie on the couch that night, and, with a quick prayer to whatever patron martyr it was appropriate, would fall asleep without the godawful whale noises she had taken to listening to before bed.

“It’s for the baby,” she’d claim. Dubious, Bog would question whether the baby needed to know what an animal he would likely never meet in his life sounded like.

He got a “playful” punch to the arm for the dirty jokes he made following her muttered reply that _he_ was a animal the baby didn’t have to meet.

And so, there they were—Marianne in her magenta pregnancy parka that made her big tummy pop out even more, her cheeks reddened by the cold, sweet mouth releasing white gusts of her breath into the frigid air, her face glowing with that internal light pregnant women had. Blooming, his mother called it. 

And dear Lord in heaven, she was. Like a winter flower, her fuzzy red woolen cap stark against the black and white background of the fallen snow and naked tree branches. She looked like the Madonna in some ancient painting—ethereal and stunning and glorious.

And she was gazing right back at him, giving him… The Look.

He was intimately familiar with The Look. It was something that ever since they began dating heralded the oncoming onslaught of very quick, very gratifying, and typically very naughty, sex.

Panicked, yet aroused despite himself, Bog glanced all around their surroundings, hoping for an excuse to delay Marianne until they were in a more weather appropriate location.

Before a single word could leave his mouth, she sidled up to him, her fingerless gloved hands dancing like pale spiders on his chest, toying with the buttons there. “Bog, did I ever… Mmm, did I ever tell you how sexy you look in this coat?” she purred, tucking her chin in to look up through her long lashes at him.

Instantly, flamed licked his skin at the lust in her eyes and he felt himselfharden, responding to his wife. 

_Damn you, you traitor!_ He thought to his double-crossing body.

“Er… a couple of times, Love…” he mumbled, gasping as one errant hand snaked under the long, black trench coat, palming his erection.

“Oooh, lookie here…” Grinning, Marianne massaged his front. “An early Christmas present!”

“Mari—Marianne!” Bog’s knees wobbled at the expert way she touched him. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist loosely. He felt like a caged animal—unable to act on the insane urge to have her against a tree at that moment, while fighting the common sense of: _it’s winter, ye soft-headed twat, and she’s pregnant_!

“We can’t, Love,” he all but whined, when seeing her face fall in dismay.

Tear welled in the butterscotch depths of Marianne’s eyes, and Bog felt like kicking himself.

She frowned, turning her face away, a wet trail on her cheek glistening.

He knew her hormones were getting the best of her, and that she was likely angrier at herself than him. Nevertheless, seeing his wife upset tore down every reasonable thought, leaving room only for the singular intention of making it all better for her.

Bending down, he brought his tall figure lower so he could cup her face, tilting it to plant a kiss on her lips. The salty taste of her tears spurred him on as she began to soften, her mouth opening under his, her tongue searching.

Bog deepened the kiss, holding closer Marianne by the back of her neck, his other hand resting over the small of her back.

As always, he lost himself to her, drowning in the sensations her kiss incited in his body. Marianne gripped the lapels of his coat, pulling him down further so she could tongue at his neck.

Holy hell, the wicked woman knew what those kisses did to him. Like a jolt of electricity, fire ran in his veins, and his already throbbing groin pulsed again. Bog let out a deep groan at his wife's ministrations, his hands dropping to her shoulders helplessly.

"Come on," Marianne said after she let go, all but making her husband fall to the frozen ground in surprise when the cold air struck the wet place on his neck. "I know where we could go."

~~~~~~~

He was but a man. Weak-willed, human and helpless when faced with a woman only legends told of. How could he stand a chance against her when she exacted her feminine weapons against him?

He couldn't—which is why Marianne led him across a short bridge and under a tunnel, all the while squeezing his hand and showing him more glimpses of The Look. Timidly, though Bog was timid with no one else beside his wife, he followed. Meekly, one may even say, had they witnessed the way the tiny pregnant woman dragged her freakishly tall companion around like he was nothing more than a suitcase on wheels.

Not long thereafter they reached what looked to be a tiny house.

"Er, Marianne, I don't think—"

"Hush. It's empty and I know where the secret key is," she said, letting Bog go to bend with a huff, kneeling at the one step to the house. "I met the owner of this place some years ago," she told him, fiddling with an invisible slot that opened with a grind of stone on stone. "Nice old man that set up a payment plan so his wife's grave would always have fresh flowers on it. Aha!" Marianne pulled up a small tin box that rattled as she shook it triumphantly.

"Seriously?" Bog questioned.

"Yep. It's called The Keeper's House. They have tours and it's more of a museum than anything else." Rising to her feet again, Marianne grabbed her husband's hand, pulling him towards the door. “Now shush and come do bad things to me.”

~~~~

To be perfectly candid, Bog couldn’t remember how to interior of the small building looked like. They entered and immediately the world shrank in size until it contained only Marianne. Two minutes later, and she stood with her legs spread as far as her lowered leggings allowed, her tunic and parka bunched up above her glorious behind as her hands were securely planted on a wall. She let out breathless moan after breathless moan while Bog pounded into her, holding her hips firmly in his large hands. The cold room was filled with gusts of steamy breaths, the windows clouding with condensation.

Determined to give her what she wanted, Bog bit one glove off, reaching down to rub a finger over her clit, drawing small, rapid circles over the highly sensitive nub. His reward was a tightening of Marianne’s internal muscles and a muffled scream.

“Aw, _fuck_!” Bog gritted out at the over stimulation, but be didn’t stop. His wife made an interesting squeaking noise, and pushed her butt backwards to grind against him, spurring him on.

He increased his pace, keeping her… _loaded_ … condition somewhere in the back of his mind, making sure not to be rough in any way and only going as hard as she showed him she wanted.

Marianne muttered a string of curses, her hands curling into fists above her bowed head. Bog continued his attack, and using a guaranteed trick to turn his wife truly wild, he bent and nipped her ear lobe, licking it as he bit down gently.

She promptly came, screaming in pleasure and taking him along for the ride so he exploded within her with a mighty eruption of euphoria.

~~~~~~

They had to take a cab back home, even though it wasn’t very far. Drunk off their racy activities, the couple was more than ready for relaxation time.

Bog made Marianne a hot chocolate, topped with marshmallows and whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon on top, all in a monstrous mug shaped like a barrel he got her back when she could drink caffeine. For himself he made a Tetley tea with a splash of milk, and set on the tray a plate of his mother’s shortbread biscuits, decorated like Christmas trees, stars, and a few dreidels.

Snuggled under a warm blanket, Marianne wriggled against Bog’s chest, trying to settle comfortably. It was difficult with her bump, but after a few annoyed huffs and more than one winding elbow to Bog’s stomach, she relaxed, letting out another of her happy sighs again.

They watched ‘ _It’s A Wonderful Life_ ’ and ‘ _Die Hard_ ’, which Bog insisted was a Christmas movie as it happened over Christmas. At some point during the first movie, Bog laid his hand over the baby bump, sneaking it under his wife’s loose nightgown. He pressed gently on the side, and got tiny responses from the occupant.

The hot drink must have woken him up, because long after his mother fell asleep, the baby within stirred awake, keeping his father company as the older watched Bruce Willis kick some German ass on the TV. A knee here and an elbow there, and a half an hour full of hiccups that made Marianne’s entire belly quiver later, Bog turned the screen off, releasing a content sigh of his own.

This would be the last Christmas they would spend by themselves. Next year the baby would be around, and as Bog watched the lights of the city outside—bright and lively even on Christmas Eve—he thought there truly was something magical about that night after all.

The last thing he saw before he shut his eyes was the original paper copy of the new store window front he drew her the year before.

The words ‘ _The Primrose Petal_ ’ in a customized font, with a frame of vines, briars and flowers, all tangled around in perfect harmony to wrap lovingly around the name of the store that brought him and Marianne, in a strange, roundabout way, together.

“Thanks again, Plum,” he muttered as he drifted off, a tiny kick in his hand signaled agreement to his words, making him fall asleep with a smile on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I’ve never been to New York, and I only read about The Keeper’s House online. I’m sorry if this is upsetting but I just needed somewhere with a roof for the little beasties to let loose in, LOL.


End file.
